Some of the supers were pushing Lolita to the other side, but she seemed to be in a panic and struggled with them as if still acting the earlier scene. At this juncture Jimmy noticed that a lady in a rose-pink sweater had run to the edge of the roof just above which the dirigible was moving, and that she was holding up her arms. His cigar dropped from his mouth a second later when he saw Bobby Wilkins grab her outstretched hands, swing her free of the roof and pull her into the car as the great dirigible finally cleared the stage setting and, in quick response to the hand of the pilot in the front car, nosed her way upward at a higher rate of speed. The curtain fell and the repressed excitement of the great audience found vent in tumultuous applause. The thing had happened so quickly that there were apparently few who had noticed that the wrong young woman had been saved from certain death by the timely arrival of Lieut. Thurston Turner, U.S.N. “My God, what a whale of a story,” chortled McClintock, gripping Jimmy’s arm so fiercely that the press agent winced with pain. “Yes, isn’t it?”, responded Jimmy dreamily as he watched the N-24 winging her way over the park and out towards the sea. The spectators had risen from their seats and were applauding again as a big American flag was unfurled from the rear car of the dirigible. The balloon kept on its way toward the ocean and McClintock noticed that it didn’t make the turn it usually did when it reached the giant roller coaster that ran along the shore. A puzzled expression came over his face. If he had looked at Jimmy sharply just then he would have observed the first beginnings of a pleased smile tilting the corners of the press agent’s mouth. A minute passed and the great yellow gas bag receded farther and farther in the distance. McClintock stepped down and borrowed a field glass from a spectator. He glued his eyes to it for a few moments and then dropped his arms. His face was pale. “His motor’s dead,” he said weakly, “and he’s drifting out to sea. The propellor’s stopped and he’s being carried out by this land breeze. We’ve got to do something—we’ve got to get help of some kind.” The manager was plainly worried. He pressed the glass on Jimmy, who had followed him out of the box, and the latter watched the clumsy balloon, now at the mercy of the stiff breeze which had blown up, slowly but surely disappearing in the opalescent haze which hung above the line where sky and ocean seemed to meet. The owner of the glasses had overheard McClintock’s remark and had passed the word to his neighbor. In two minutes the news had spread through the great crowd and thousands of eyes were focused on the drifting speck which presently vanished.